


kid gloves

by emavee



Series: unconditional [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce gets to be a soft dad here bc he's not batman and has been to therapy, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Gen, Gotham's shitty social services, Grief/Mourning, Running Away, Young Dick Grayson, or really no capes i guess bc neither of them have powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: He doesn’t want to stay here. He wants to go back to the circus, and no one is going to stop him, especially not Mr. Wayne.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: unconditional [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155143
Comments: 4
Kudos: 148





	kid gloves

Dick can hear Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth shouting for him. Despite being a fairly reserved man, Mr. Wayne has a bellowing voice when he wants to be loud. It reminds Dick of his dad’s raucous laughter, except without all of the joy. It’s scary, sometimes, how big and loud Mr. Wayne can be. 

Luckily, Dick is small and quick and a better climber than either Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth. This time they won’t catch him. 

He doesn’t want to stay here. He wants to go back to the circus, and no one is going to stop him, especially not Mr. Wayne. It’s cold and gross in Gotham, and the people are mean. That must just be how people from Gotham are: they look like their homes. Most of the people are pretty nasty, like the mildewy walls and alleyways that stink of rotting garbage. Mr. Wayne is big and quiet, like his massive house, too fancy and lofty for Dick. 

He misses the fun of the circus, the energy and the chaos that softened at the end of the day into kind smiles and twinkling stars. He misses his family’s trailer, as cramped as it could get. Waking up to the sound of his mom humming to herself as his dad burnt bacon and eggs. His mom pressing a gentle kiss to his temple or forehead, his dad tossing him high into the air.

He misses them so bad that it hurts, deep down in his stomach. It’s worse than that time he broke his arm cartwheeling next to Zitka’s enclosure, and that had hurt really, really bad. But this type of hurt is a lot scarier, because it keeps on growing, and it makes him feel all cold and numb. He has to go back to the circus, to all the light and happiness, or else the cold numbness is going to swallow him whole. 

It’s February, and the rain that’s been falling all day is starting to turn into thick, heavy snow, but Dick barely even feels it. He’s too numb at this point to care. The stinging in his fingers and ears will all be worth it once he finally makes it back to Haly’s. 

“Dick!”

He flinches, nearly jumping out of his skin at how close Mr. Wayne’s voice is. Crap. 

Dick quickly looks around before scrambling carefully into the bushes next to him. His arms, thankfully, are protected by his coat, but the leaves and branches scratch painfully at his face and hands. He hisses at the feeling, and then holds his breath to try and keep as still and quiet as possible. 

“Dick! Come on, chum. Where are you?”

Dick thinks Mr. Wayne is being a little silly. He knows it’s freezing out. He can feel it. He’s the one out here with wet sneakers and no mittens because his crabby social worker didn’t let him keep any of his clothes. Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth keep trying to buy him new clothes, but Dick doesn’t want their stupid rich people clothes. He wants  _ his  _ stuff, the stuff that’s waiting for him at the circus.

His fatal mistake comes from not being able to contain his shivers. He rattles the leaves of the bush with his shaking, and that’s all it takes for Mr. Wayne to track him down in the quiet night air.

“Dick. There you are.” Mr. Wayne is suddenly crouched down in front of his bush, pulling the branches aside to get a clearer view of Dick’s hiding spot. “Thank goodness. Are you alright? Let’s get you inside; it’s freezing out here.”

“Go back inside if you’re so cold,” Dick says, wishing his teeth weren’t chattering so much as he speaks. “Leave me alone. You don’t need to keep following me, you know.”

Mr. Wayne’s expression is hard to read, but he gazes at Dick so intently that it makes him want to squirm. He doesn’t though, because he doesn’t want to let Mr. Wayne know that he’s getting to him. 

“I know,” Mr. Wayne says softly, exhaling. “But that’s not going to stop me, kiddo.”

“Why?” Dick snaps. “Why won’t you just let me leave?”

Mr. Wayne leans forward and Dick shuffles back further into the bushes to keep him from trying to pull him out, but instead Mr. Wayne just takes his cold, numb hands in his giant gloved ones, just holding them and squeezing gently. Dick hates to admit that it feels really nice, lessening his shivers just slightly. It leeches some of the anger out of him as well, making him feel more tired than anything else.

“Because I care about you. I know you’re hurting, and you’re angry, and I know you miss the circus. And I really wish you could go back there, I really do, because above all I want you to be happy. But it just isn’t possible. I’m so sorry, chum.”

Dick sniffles. “Why do you call me that?”

Mr. Wayne freezes just slightly, looking a bit like a deer in headlights. “It’s um… It’s something my dad used to call me and I just… I’m sorry. It’s a force of habit but I will do my best to stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Dick chews on his lower lip until he tastes blood. That feels… big. Like it means something. Like he means something to Mr. Wayne, for real. Not that any of it makes any sense.

“Hey.” Mr. Wayne pulls one of his hands away from holding Dick’s to gently tug his lip out from between his teeth. “Don’t chew your lip, alright? That’s a bad habit to get yourself into.”

Dick drops his gaze, feeling his eyes start to sting in a way that has nothing to do with the cold air. “My mom used to say the same thing.” And she would do that same thing Mr. Wayne did too, pulling his lip away, all while ignoring Dick and his dad when they told her that chewing her nails was a bad habit too. He misses her so, so much.

“She was a smart woman.”

Dick nods, squeezing his eyes shut. His throat suddenly feels impossibly tight, like it’s collapsing in on itself. He can’t breathe, even as a desperate sob tears its way out of him.

“Oh, chum,” Mr. Wayne says and then Dick is being pulled out from the bushes and he can’t bring himself to care. 

Mr. Wayne settles him on his folded legs, wrapping his big arms around Dick and holding the back of his head so that Dick’s freezing nose is pressed against his neck. Dick melts into the embrace without really meaning to, suddenly realizing just how much he’s been craving  _ warmth. _

“I want to go home,” Dick sobs, clinging to Mr. Wayne as best he can. His fingers are stiff as he grips at the lapels of his heavy wool coat.

“I know,” Mr. Wayne soothes, rubbing his hand up and down Dick’s back. “I’m sorry.”

He lets Dick cry, keeping Dick wrapped up in warm arms and sheltered from the cold and snow as much as possible. It doesn’t do much to stop the physical cold, but as Mr. Wayne holds him and rubs comforting circles on his back and lets him rub snot and tears all over his fancy jacket, some of the coldness from inside him starts to recede. 

“Does it ever stop?” Dick whispers as the tears begin to taper off. He feels stiff and achy, and knows Mr. Wayne must feel even worse with the way he’s kneeling in the snow.

The hand on his back never ceases, even as Mr. Wayne asks, “Does what stop, chum?”

“The hurt? The numb?”

“Oh.” And now he’s gone and really upset Mr. Wayne. He can hear it. Dick just can’t do anything right at all. “Yes,” he says after a moment. “I promise you, Dick, that will fade. It will get easier, I swear. Just let us help you.”

Dick can’t imagine that. There’s no light at the end of this tunnel and it feels like the walls are closing in on him more and more each day. “How do you know?”

Mr. Wayne pulls back just enough to look Dick in the eyes, brushing his hair back from his forehead the way Dick’s mom always used to too. His thumb brushes between Dick’s eyebrows, smoothing out the creases he didn’t realize were there.

“Because it happened to me. And I know I was so lucky. I had Alfred, and the house I grew up in. I can’t even begin to imagine how much it must suck to be so far from your home right now. But I’m going to do everything to help you, and I’m hoping that one day, this will feel a bit like home too.”

Dick sniffs again and leans back into Mr. Wayne’s warmth. “It’s just so different here. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin sometimes.”

Mr. Wayne just hums, rubbing his hands up and down Dick’s arms. It feels really nice, and Dick suddenly realizes how tired he is. He thinks that if his bones could take a nap, they would.

“Mr. Wayne?” Dick whispers.

“You can just call me Bruce, kiddo. ‘Mr. Wayne’ makes me feel super old.”

“Oh. Sorry. Bruce, then?”

“Yes, chum?”

“I’m really cold.”

That makes Bruce lurch into action. He pulls back away from Dick, who can’t help but whine at the loss of warmth. But Bruce just tugs off his own gloves, helping Dick pull them over his stiff and numb fingers. 

“But won’t your hands get cold now?” Dick asks. The gloves are massive on him, nearly slipping off at the slightest wiggle. 

“Don’t worry about me, alright? You’re what’s important right now.”

Bruce scoops him up into his arms before rising to his feet. “Just hang on a little bit longer, alright? I’m sure Alfred will want to make you some hot chocolate to warm up, and his hot chocolate is damn good. Don’t tell Alfred I said that word in front of you.”

Despite everything, Dick buries a giggle into Bruce’s shoulder and lets himself drift slightly in the warmth.

“How do you know I won’t try and leave again?” he mumbles against Bruce’s coat as they walk. Or well, as Bruce walks. 

He feels Bruce shrug, jostling him just a bit. “I don’t. But I can promise you this much: if you do, I will always come after you. Every single time.”

“Oh.” 

Dick can’t figure out why Bruce is being so nice to him after everything he’s put him through. Sometimes he thinks that his social worker was right, that he really is an ungrateful brat. It hurt so bad when she would say that stuff, especially when she and all the others would act like he actually belonged in the Center. He’d never committed any crimes, but maybe that didn’t matter. Bruce had pulled him out of there and let him live in a literal mansion and all Dick had done was run away from him at every turn. 

Maybe Bruce really should have left him there.

He burrows deeper into Bruce’s hold, wishing he could just disappear. Everything feels off. Wrong. And he has no idea how to fix it. Maybe Bruce would know, but Dick can’t bring himself to voice his thoughts, not when he’s put Bruce through so much trouble tonight already. Instead, he lets Bruce carry him and tries his best to not think about anything at all.

Maybe he dozes off or maybe he just zones out a bit, but the next thing Dick knows, Mr. Pennyworth is greeting them in the entryway.

“Thank goodness you found him,” he’s saying. He steps forward, a hand coming to press Dick’s sopping bangs back and perhaps search for any sort of fever. He looks really worried, and Dick’s guilt immediately doubles, twisting in his stomach. He waits for either Bruce or Mr. Pennyworth to start scolding him, but it never comes. Instead, Mr. Pennyworth keeps up his pinched but evidently relieved expression and asks, “Master Dick, are you quite alright?”

He nods, his shivering finally starting to slow.

“Just a little cold and damp,” Bruce says, fingers brushing through the hair at the nape of Dick’s neck, detangling the strands that have been clumped together by the snow.

Mr. Pennyworth nods, sighing. “Come, Master Dick. Let us get you changed and warming up in front of the fireplace.”

Surprisingly, Bruce doesn’t set him down, instead electing to carry Dick to the den where Mr. Pennyworth has gotten a fire going. They settle in on the couch, apparently not caring that Dick is wet and muddy despite their furniture being so fancy and expensive. Bruce helps him tug off his soggy tennis shoes and socks, replacing them with the thick fuzzy socks that Mr. Pennyworth brought for him, along with a clean pair of pajama pants and a ridiculously soft sweater that he’d tumbled in the dryer for a bit to warm up. Bruce has to point Dick to the nearest bathroom to change, since although he’s been here nearly two months, he’s done everything in his power to avoid learning his way around any more than necessary. 

Now might be a good time to start figuring that out, since it looks like he’s here to stay, at least for the near future. Well, at least it gives him an excuse to explore. 

“I really can’t go back to the circus, can I?” Dick asks sullenly as he kicks his feet slightly, letting them bounce off of the couch. Surely if he could go home, Bruce would have sent him off by now.

“No,” Bruce says softly. He reaches an arm around Dick’s shoulders to tug him in against his side. Dick goes easily. Bruce, too, is dressed in dryer-warm clothes, and the warmth feels nice against his still-chilly skin. “I’m sorry. I wish you could be somewhere that makes you happy.”

Dick sniffs, eyes burning for the bajillionth time tonight. “ _ I’m _ sorry. I’ve been so ungrateful… You—you saved me from the Center. And you let me live here, in this  _ huge  _ house and I’ve just been so terrible—”

“Hey,” Bruce snaps, pulling away. Dick stifles a whimper, ducking his head so he can’t see how Bruce must be glaring at him. “Hey,” Bruce repeats, softer this time. His hand is gentle as it reaches out to cup Dick’s chin and lift his eyes. “None of that. You haven’t been ungrateful and you certainly haven’t been terrible. You’re a good kid, Dick, and I won’t allow you to believe anything less.”

“But  _ why _ do you think that? You’ve only ever seen me—”

“I’ve only ever seen you being a hurt child reacting accordingly. Yes, it upset me every time you ran away or shut yourself in your room,  _ but _ that’s only because I was worried about you. You’ve been through a traumatic experience and you’re hurting. And sometimes that hurt manifests itself in emotions and actions that aren’t so pretty, but that’s okay. Because I am here to support you and help you get through all that hurt.”

“I just don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve that.”

“Nothing. You don’t have to  _ do _ anything to deserve care and compassion, Dick. Those are unconditional in this house.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. A tear escapes, rolling down his cheek before Bruce brushes it away with his thumb.

“No sorries. Not for this. You are healing, chum, and that’s not always a straight line.”

“But there is an end, right? There’s a light somewhere?”

“Yes,” Bruce insists, taking both of Dick’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “And, Dick, if you ever feel like you’re in the dark or you can’t find that light, you come talk to me. Or Alfred. Or, if you want, a therapist. I saw one when I was your age and for a long time growing up and it really helped. You don’t have to decide right now, but think about it, okay? I want to help you come up with some better outlets for the things you’re feeling.”

Dick nods weakly. “Alright.” It’s a reasonable ask, all things considered, even if the idea of talking about That Night makes his stomach twist into knots.

“Are you feeling any better, young sir?” Mr. Pennyworth asks, appearing with a try of steaming mugs. He presses one of the mugs into Dick’s hand before passing the other to Bruce. 

“Yes, sir.” He takes a sip of the hot chocolate, immediately feeling even warmer. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth. This is really good.”

He smiles kindly. “You’re welcome, my dear boy. And please, there’s no need for such formality. ‘Alfred’ is just fine with me.”

“Oh. Alright. Sorry.” 

First Bruce and now Alfred. He can’t quite make sense of the feelings squirming around in his chest right now, but he thinks it feels significant, like… like they really do want him here.

“That’s quite alright.”

“Um,” Dick hesitates. “Are you mad at me?” Bruce said he wasn’t, but that didn’t mean Alfred would feel the same way. He did a lot to try and keep Dick healthy, always complaining about the way the Center didn’t feed him enough and worrying when the nightmares left dark circles under his eyes. He might be angry that Dick had ruined all of that and wandered out into the cold.

“No, Master Dick. Just worried.”

“Oh.” He exhales in relief, weight lifted from his shoulders.

“However, you had best not do something so dangerous again in the future. Or else I will be quite angry with you for risking yourself and your health in such a way.”

“I won’t do it again. Promise.” And this time, Dick thinks he might mean it. Bruce is really nice, and he seems to really actually understand what Dick is feeling. Some part of him itches desperately for the circus, but maybe that part of his life really is over, and he just has to accept it. It wouldn’t feel right anyway, without his mom and dad. The emptiness and hurt might be even worse if he was constantly seeing the places where they should be.

“Very good,” Alfred says with a smile before retreating and leaving Bruce and Dick alone again.

Dick feels worn out as he sips at his hot chocolate. He’s warm now, and oh so comfortable, the stiff-looking fancy couch surprisingly plush as he rests his cheek against it. He doesn’t even realize his eyes are slipping closed until Bruce is gently taking the mug out of his hands.

“Let’s get you to bed, chum. It’s been a long day.”

Dick nods sleepily and without thinking about it reaches out for Bruce to pick him up again. Bruce does, helping Dick prop his chin on top of his shoulder. He carries him up the stairs and through the winding hallways until he’s settling Dick down on his bed.

“I feel like I should make you get up and brush your teeth…”

Dick whines, shaking his head. “I’ll brush twice as good tomorrow morning.”

Bruce huffs out a soft laugh. “Yeah, alright. Just don’t tell Alfred.”

“Yay.”

“Yay,” Bruce agrees, and Dick can practically hear the grin in his voice.

“I don’t think I mind it,” Dick says around a yawn. “You calling me ‘chum,’ I mean.” 

His mom always called him her little Robin. This is different, but it’s also sort of the same, isn’t it? He thinks it is.

His eyes are drooping closed, so he misses Bruce’s reaction, but he feels the gentle hand on his forehead. 

Dick feels exhausted and weary, but at the same time lighter than he’s felt in a while. Not so light that he could float away from everything, but happier, he thinks, although that word doesn’t quite feel right either. Maybe warmer then. Yeah, warmer. 

“Sleep well, chum,” Bruce murmurs before Dick hears the soft click of the door closing.

And for the first time in weeks, he does.


End file.
